The Hunter
by diacritic
Summary: And the night was beautiful. All of it was perfect. Until the telegram came.


**Disclaimer:**_ Inglourious Basterds, _and anything pertaining to it, belongs to Quentin Tarantino. Thank God.

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**I**

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The night is beautiful. People don't really pay attention to the night sky. Not the stars or the moon. They get their deserved attention. It's simply the night that does not. This dark, all-enveloping matter blanketed upon the atmosphere. So much is in the night. It seems to hold everything in it, only to melt away when the sun rises, taking away with it the sheen of the darkness.

These were the thoughts that happened to conceive themselves in Emeline Berg's mind as she watched the night out her balcony.

But, eventually, all moments like this come to end.

A knock on the door turned her around.

"Mein Liebling, are you ready? The soldiers are set to arrive," her mother, Ileana, informed. Her mother was a very thin, sharp woman. Emeline never felt as close to her as she did her father, Dietrich, who was, assumingly, downstairs with the guests.

"Ja, ja, mama. Five minutes." Emeline smiled and nodded her head a few times to which her mother did the same. She closed the door.

Emeline was excited for tonight. The Führer had succeeded in continuous military conquests and Germany was thriving. Soldiers who had been serving on the front were invited for a congratulatory party at her home, her father being an advisor to a head colonel. Emeline lived in the country, neighboring only a few more large mansions similar to her own. The neighbors were all welcomed to come celebrate along; and they did.

She looked herself over in the floor-length mirror. Her dress was a light lavender, contrasting beautifully with olive skin. Her blonde curls were messily put up and pinned—a look that she happened to enjoy even though her mother did not. All she needed to do was put on her heels and she would be ready. She paused, though, and smiled. She twirled her body and watched the bottom of her dress fly up in a wave of color. It was going to be a good night.

She walked to her closet and put on her shoes.

A few of the cars were pulled up in the driveway when she made it to the bottom of the stairs. As soldiers began entering through the front double-doors, applause rang through the house. All the soldiers decorated themselves with brightly colored buttons and ribbons on their jackets adorned alongside large grins. Some waved, some hugged, most just stood in the crowd waiting for the other soldiers to enter. Not surprisingly, the largest applause was given to Colonel Hans Landa who was one of the last of the men to enter. He bowed to his greeting and immediately shook hands with Emeline's father.

Emeline had, of course, heard of him before. Everyone had. But seeing him in his navy uniform, larger than life, made him exactly that. As soon as he entered, whispers and hoots were thrown around the crowd. He was very impressive; any man would be if they had done the things he was known for doing. But any man wasn't. Hans Landa was.

She watched him carefully. He almost looked modest in the way his hands were behind his back and in how he was nodding and smiling graciously at the praise her father was obviously giving. She turned away after a minute and walked to the ballroom where the dancing was starting.

It commenced as soon as the soldiers settled in. Most everyone partnered off and the violinists quickly began playing. She peered over to her father who was still enthusiastically conversing with Colonel Landa and a few other high ranking officers. Her mother was by the champagne—tragically cliché.

"Will you take my hand tonight, Fraülein Berg?" a voice said from behind Emeline. And she, with a knowing grin, turned to meet her closest friend, Adelaide. Adelaide's family lived about four fields from Emeline's which, in turn, caused them to be friends since they could first crawl.

"Why, I think I will, madame!" she giggled and placed her hand in Adelaide's which Adelaide kissed and pulled toward her. A fast-paced waltz engulfed them and they spun and spun around inside the crowd. They wove themselves in and out between other couples who were doing the same. An intoxication began to overflow in the room. All there was was laughter and smiles. It wasn't real but, oh, it most certainly was. The images going past their eyes meshed together in brilliant color. And this was happiness. Everything was perfect for that one moment. Everyone was in their own happy. Her mother with her champagne. Her father with his soldiers. And Emeline with her Adelaide and this waltz.

But, eventually, all moments like this come to end.

A black car drove up to the front of the house. Two men in dark green trench-coats exited out of the front seats. One held a telegram. The other held handcuffs. They passed through the doors and, in a very quick fashion, found Colonel Landa. Nobody besides those few around Landa noticed the soldiers. This notice trickled through the crowd with quiet voices. The Colonel's eyes scanned the paper and then rose up in as much time as it took for them to lower. He found the eyes of Dietrich Berg and sighed audibly.

Dietrich stiffened.

More people had become aware of the two new guests who hadn't come in earlier. The trickling continued down into the ballroom. The violins had stopped by this point, and the guests were steadying their breathing, some still in the transgressing high. A flurry of whispers hit where Emeline and Adelaide had been standing. Emeline, when hearing of her father, had no time to question anything and ran to the main room of the house leaving her friend vexed and torn. Her smile wasn't apparent any longer. Her mother, when seeing her daughter rushing away, ran after her. Her champagne glass was still in hand.

Emeline squeezed through people to get to the now enlarging free space of where her father was. Once she was in the open, the sounds around the house had died down. Her breathing was the only sound, now.

"Papa…what's wrong?" she talked slowly, switching her gaze from the Colonel, the two men in green, and her father. Her father didn't answer but gave Landa back the telegram he had been holding. The Colonel, however, cocked his head. He stared at Emeline like he was staring at a zoo animal. He was smiling. Ah. She had been sorely mistaken when she considered him to carry modesty.

"You are Emeline, I presume?" he quipped as he began walking forward. She almost felt like she was to back up.

"I am...What is the matter, Herr Landa?" She swallowed once. Landa folded the telegram and stuck it in one of his numerous pockets.

"The matter, mein Liebling Emeline, is that you are one half Jewish."

Like an ocean storm hitting the mainland, a wave of whispers dressed with shock shook the house. Emeline didn't think she comprehended. But she did. She shook her head once, maybe twice, but didn't feel like she could say anything. It had to be a mistake.

"I…No. I'm not. My parents…are…they're both German." She sounded far away. Her words reached her ears too late. _But how could he make such a mistake?_

"No. I'm afraid to tell you they're not. You're father isn't German." Landa sounded like he was singing to her.

She looked around at the faces around her. She couldn't read them. She didn't know they all held wide eyes and open mouths; she couldn't see anything. She tried her papa for reassurance. He had to tell her, "No, it's all right. It's just a mistake." He just had to.

But he wasn't saying anything.

"I…Papa…Tell them. You're German. You're a German."

Colonel Landa got in close to Emeline. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and put the side of his face next to hers. He pointed to Emeline's father.

"That man? Dietrich Berg? He _is_ German. You're father is not."

Emeline shook her head again. What _was_ he telling her? She just couldn't comprehend his sentences. His mouth moved, but what came out was solely gibberish.

"Emeline, this is not your father."

No, no, no! Oh, he had to be pulling her leg! This wasn't true. Of course not. Dietrich was her papa. She always _called_ him papa. So, therefore, he was her papa! There'd been a mistake, that's all. And when her father, her _father_, got his voice back, he'd tell these men that this is all a huge mistake and they've just been sent to the wrong Berg house. Yes, that's all.

Her mother took the lead, "There's been a mistake."

"Frau Berg, please. As rude as this is, and I do apologize for it, you are the last person who should be speaking. This is, after all, a cause to your decision in 1922 to commit adultery on this Dietrich Berg with an Ephrem Rosenbaum. So—kindly, of course—remove yourself from this conversation." And he said it all with a smile on his lips.

Ileana's mouth was so tight, it looked like it would rip her face. She stood frozen in her black, three inch pumps.

"Just as I thought. Now, ah, yes, Emeline. Ephrem Rosenbaum is your father biologically. You, hopefully, heard what I've said to your mother. I'd like not to repeat it again. He's been captured and has admitted to having an affair with her. Naturally, we must act upon these accusations which, unfortunately, have turned out to be true. Although, I must say, it does surprise me that you didn't wonder why there weren't any more children in your family. It doesn't surprise me, however, that your mother didn't tell you your father was impotent. Such a shame." Colonel Landa moved away from Emeline—who was still blank in her spot—to the man holding the handcuffs. He walked back and opened the metal cuffs.

"If you'd please, extend your wrists," he said it so politely it would've been morally wrong not to. Her wrists automatically extended. At least her motor skills hadn't gone to waste. Two small clicks and it was done.

"I'd really rather take your mother than you, you know I would. But, alas, rules are rules. And she isn't the Jewish one, is she?" He guided her forward by her elbow to Dietrich; leaning in close to father and daughter, he draped a hand on the shoulder of each. "Leave on good terms. It's wonderful when that happens."

Emeline could hear well, but it's like the words weren't right. They weren't the words she'd used every day. Not those words.

Her father was as quiet as she was. They both seemed to be staring through each other.

Dietrich put his hands on his daughters face and brought his mouth to her ear. He hesitated and inhaled softly before speaking: "Don't let them take your words, Emeline. Don't let them take the freedom in your words." He kissed his daughter's cheek.

"I truly apologize to you all! This isn't the way a congratulatory party usually occurs! Everyone should still enjoy their night!" Colonel Landa chuckled as he finished addressing the guests. He stepped forward and took Emeline's waist. Emeline's feet moved with his in stride. She didn't notice much. Oh, but she felt the night air. The night. It still went on, beautiful and all-consuming. And she could almost taste it.

She heard a door open. She felt leather under and against her body. And she heard a door close.

She heard her mother's voice yelling: "Emeline!" And she heard a smack of glove against cheek.

She again heard her mother's voice, but only as a whimper, now. And she heard her father…No. She heard Dietrich Berg's roars and cries of accusation.

She heard the engine start up.

And then she heard no more.


End file.
